Shelter
by DarkJisushiku
Summary: [oneshot][nonslash] Every year, the streetgirl on the corner of Diagon Alley watches Lucius Malfoy and his son shop for school. And every year, she learns how much Lucius secretly cares for his young boy... [FatherSon Musings]


**Title: Shelter**

**Rating: PG-13 **_for one bad word…_

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and its characters are all property of J. K. Rowling and their other respected owners and companies. My character – the girl with two braids and two black boots – is original and all mine. Do not steal, please.

**Author's Notes: **Just a little drabble I thought up.

* * *

_Shelter, I want shelter…_

_Somewhere to cower…_

_Somewhere to hide…_

_Shelter, I want shelter…_

The girl with two braids and two black boots glared up impertinently at the two gentlemen walking past her; a father and a son. Each was a carbon copy of the other, with the grace and the beauty of the Roman gods. She was slumped silently, yet with a rough defiance, up against one of the alleyway's brick walls. Her scabbed knees were brought up to her chin, as she inched her head to follow the two men's tracks.

"I want a broomstick, Father," the boy said haughtily, jabbing a slender finger at one of the shop windows.

"Did I not say I would buy you one, Draco?" answered the father curtly, a bite of aggravation echoing his words. He raised a slender, blonde eyebrow at the boy.

"But not any broomstick," the boy went on. "I want a broomstick better than a Nimbus Two Thousand – better than the broomstick _Harry Potter_ has."

It seemed like it took all the father had not to deliver a well-earned blow of annoyance to the back of the blonde boy's head. It was apparent even to the street-rat the older man had heard this speech before. Yet, instead of striking his son, a flicker of a smile momentarily graced the father's features, reminding himself how amusing his son was acting... Not that he _approved_ of his son's behavior, of course.

"…_Harry Potter_ got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year," Draco complained indignantly. "All because he has that _scar –_"

"Draco," warned the father, rapping the boy roughly on the shoulders with the black cane he was carrying on his person. A few wizards and witches passing by eyed the pair reproachfully. Neither father, nor son seemed to be aware of the furtive glances. The son wasn't hurt; and, although the passer-bys wouldn't believe, the father wasn't really hurting him either. Only the street-girl saw that, only her.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco mumbled automatically.

The older man nodded briskly in response, before commanding, "Come, Draco." Then he turned and strode down the alleyway. The boy, with one last futile glance at the shiny broomstick in the window, followed his father dutifully, though secretly willingly. He actually did like his father...and his father actually_ did_ like him. Not that they were about to tell anyone. And the girl with two braids and two black boots watched them go, the glare still masking her autumn eyes with mock antipathy.

_Daddy, I want Daddy…_

_Someone to embrace…_

_Someone to love…_

_Daddy, I want Daddy…_

Two years later, the girl with two braids and two black boots gazed up half-heartedly at the two gentlemen walking past her; the same father and son. Each still was a carbon copy of the other, yet their combined grace and beauty had subtly aged. This time she was lounging, flat on her lean stomach, watching many oblivious people past her. Once more she inched her head to follow the two men's tracks.

"Father, I was thinking," the boy said cautiously, eyeing his father's reaction at these words.

"I hope you are_ not _impressed by that feat, Draco," the father snapped coldly, as they made their way down the alleyway. But he awaited for his son to speak again.

"No - _no_, it's - it's just -" Draco paused, realizing that he embarrassing himself andannoying his father. The older man waited silently. Trying again, he stated in a firmer voice, "I believe I need a tutor, Father."

His father rapped the same black cane he always had on his son's shoulder, glaring.

"You are perfectly capable of exceeding your current marks with your own abilities, thank you very much," his father sneered disdainfully. "I doubt that Miss Granger has her own tutor."

"But, Father," struggled the boy, "if I had a tutor, maybe I would become the top in my class, instead of that Mudbl -"

"That is enough, Draco," the father whispered threateningly. "You will not have a tutor. You will surpass that girl by your own intelligence and hard work." But he was not threatening his son - not really. And the boy understood this. And the street-girl understood this.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco mumbled robotically.

His father nodded curtly in response, before commanding, "Come, Draco." Then he turned and strode yet again down the alleyway. The boy, his head lower than it had been when he had first strolled into the street, followed his father dutifully. The girl with two braids and two black boots watched them go, the gaze still masking her autumn eyes with indifference.

_Shelter, keep my Daddy…_

_Give him laughter…_

_Give him a life…_

_Shelter, keep my Daddy…_

Four years later, the girl with two braids and two black boots glimpsed dubiously at the pair walking past her; the all-too-familiar son and… _a woman_. The boy had longed out into a slimmer, handsomer son of his father, fully of grace and beauty that had matured like a blood red wine. This time she was leaning composedly against one of the alleyway's brick walls. Once again she inched her head to follow the boy, strangely alone without his father's presence.

"Come, Draco, we need to get you some new robes," the pale-faced woman stated smartly.

The boy dragged his feet behind his mother, unwilling to disobey, yet unable to bring himself to comply. His face was held high, however, his stormy eyes were focusing on the cobblestone path underneath his feet.

The woman, sensing her son's reluctance, spun on her heel and faced him. Glowering at the independent blonde, she pulled him by the elbow, forcing him to walk beside her. Before they could go any further, the mother noticed the street-girl's secretive glimpses.

"_What_," snarled the woman coolly, "are _you_ staring at?" However, the street-rat was taken aback. The son's mother was cold... she was _actually_ cold. And her voice sent shivers up the girl's weak spine.

For the first time in five years, the boy suddenly noticed the girl. He noticed her braids. He noticed her black boots. He even noticed her old, ratty, ragged clothes. And he noticed how calmly she was staring down his own mother.

"You bitch," snapped his mother, slapping the girl across the face.

For the first time in five years, the girl lowered her eyes. And his mother strolled past her, her wicked heels clicking in the process. The boy, however, paused. He waited for the street-girl to reply, as his father had once done for him. Then –

"Where's your shelter?"

"He's… gone."

"Oh… Your father once surprised me."

"How?"

"He actually cared."

_Daddy, stay my shelter…_

_Please protect me…_

_Please love me…_

_Daddy, stay my shelter…_

Draco inwardly chuckled. So… she had noticed it too.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

**A/N's: **The ending bit gave me a lot of trouble. At first, I couldn't figure out how to end Draco and the street-girl's very brief conversation without focusing too much on the girl. I wanted the focus to remain on Lucius and Draco. I'm not sure if I was able to do that, though. **_Anyway, please, please, please review!_**


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